


Transferal

by Tasyfa



Category: Green Day, Music RPF
Genre: Anonymous Sex, Collars, Dom/sub, Exhibitionism, M/M, Master/Slave, Ownership, Sub Billie Joe Armstrong, Voyeurism, actually more master/slave than D/s, do not copy to other sites, mention of Billie Joe/others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28718157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tasyfa/pseuds/Tasyfa
Summary: Billie Joe isn't expecting his reality to have changed when he wakes up in the motel room and he isn't alone.
Relationships: Billie Joe Armstrong/Mike Dirnt
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	Transferal

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ back in 2007 as part of a kink fic challenge, for the prompt: collars.

The various marks and bruises scattered across his form make themselves known as he stretches, his body beginning the journey to wakefulness. It's not until the apex of his last stretch, when his spine is curved like an arching cat's, that he realizes two incongruous facts: he isn't alone in the bed, and he can see.

They're not supposed to stay the night. Sometimes they do, though, and when it happens Billie wakes to the same darkness he collapsed into, blindfold secured snugly over his eyes. The identities remain secret: a faceless, hungry fuck in the night. At least, until someone decided to break his dom's biggest rule, and as he straightens Billie turns his head, seeking…Mike.

He's known, of course. Known the sound of harsh pants and rough whispers; recognized the feel of string-born calluses sliding over his skin, digging in to get a good grip when at last that hard cock slammed into him, leaving Billie a shivering, whimpering mess once his screaming stopped. But he didn't expect to ever be confronted with the reality of the lanky bassist in his bed—or the motel room mattress that currently passes as his own, anyway.

He watches Mike sleep and fights the urge to touch, to make sure he isn't dreaming. Truths are so often brought home to him in those warm blue eyes and Billie Joe doesn't understand why this morning is different.

Long eyelashes flutter and steady breathing stutters and then Mike is awake, too, and staring right at him with a quizzical smile. Tentatively, Billie returns it, until they are beaming at each other in their own version of sunrise and he looks away, vaguely embarrassed.

"Oh, no you don't. C'mere."

He slips into Mike's arms and submits to the kisses bestowed all over his face, melting into the sweetness with the softest of sighs.

"Did you know? That it was me?"

Billie nods, his hair brushing along the prominent collarbone beneath his cheek. "Yeah. I always know."

"Yeah?" A hint of surprise infuses his voice and Billie can't help but smile.

"Mike, I've known you for the better part of my life. I've spent enough time crammed into small spaces with you to know what you smell like, how you sound, what you say, and I—" he falters, then presses on. "I know what you feel like inside me."

Silence answers that declaration, one so long that his stomach begins to quake. There are reasons he's supposed to wake up alone after these nights. Morning sheds too much light on things that were probably never meant to be spoken.

And then Mike's hands are in his hair, tugging his head up and claiming his mouth in a bruising kiss, and Billie doesn't know if it's supposed to be a reward or a punishment for his honesty but he opens for his lover readily enough, accepting the rough thrust of his tongue with a muffled moan.

When they finally break apart, both men are breathing hard and Mike swallows a few times before remarking, "My jacket's on the armchair in the corner."

A casual statement that seems wholly out of place until Billie sees the purposeful cast to the desire clouding his eyes, and the sudden reminder of their nighttime roles has him scrambling out of the bed to bring the garment over.

Mike smiles, approval evident when he says, "Close your eyes, Bill."

He obeys, despite wanting to discover what his best friend looks like during these moments. The unmistakable sound of a buckle has him tensing. They haven't ventured into those waters together, although Billie has experienced rather a lot with his other faceless lovers. He's actually not sure if Mike knows what he's doing, because they _haven't_ done anything like this together, and he's not in any kind of proper position if the bassist wants to…

Billie Joe's mind simply stops when he feels those callused fingertips fastening the narrow strip of leather around his neck. He knows without looking that it is black, with an ornate silver buckle, because he has worn it before. When it is secure, and the hands drop away, he feels his world tilt behind his closed eyelids, settling into the most unexpected pattern of all.

He holds completely still as he whispers, "Master."

Mike's swift intake of breath has Billie's eyes flying open without permission, to witness a quiet joy in his dom's face.

"I wasn't sure if—I made the arrangements, but I wasn't _sure_ until you said what you just said, Billie. About knowing me."

Comprehension floods him as irrefutably as the sunlight does the room and Billie drops to his knees, leaning against those long legs. Trying to express his absolute trust. He has questions still—of course he does—but this astonishing new development in one of his oldest, most important relationships has his heart racing to keep up.

A soft laugh accompanies the hand petting his hair, and he knows that he's managed to communicate at least some of what he's feeling. That knowledge steadies him through the next command.

"Back up on the bed."

"Yes, Master," he replies meekly, concealing a smirk when he sees Mike's erection twitch at the unfamiliar title. Billie dares to glance up at his dom's face and upon seeing the tenderness mirrored there he's in motion, crawling onto his hands and knees in the middle of the mattress, ass presented high in the air.

Until long-fingered hands gently tip him sideways, then onto his back, slipping a pillow beneath his hips and spreading his legs to drape over muscular shoulders. He feels heat pressed against puckered skin and freezes in realization.

"Mike, yellow. We need—"

"You know I'm clean, Bill."

He does. Aside from the fact that all his partners are screened, he knows each and every person that has shared Mike's bed, from fifteen-year-old Jennifer Walsh in the tenth grade right through to last night with him.

What Billie doesn't know is his own sexual history.

He moistens lips gone dry. " _I'm_ the risk."

An affectionate smile creases Mike's face and he leans down to nuzzle Billie's neck. There's just enough give in the leather adorning his throat for Mike to get his teeth into it and tug, his point made even before he speaks directly into his slave's ear.

"You're _my_ risk to take."

He is. In every way that counts, he is. And so when Mike pulls back enough to lock gazes with him, Billie gives a tiny nod, his consent all but imperceptible save for the blatant invitation in his smile.

Heat spears him in the next instant. His exhausted sleep after their activities the night before lasted long enough for his muscles to begin to retighten, and the solid length of bare cock burns still-sensitized nerve endings as Mike thrusts in balls-deep.

Involuntarily, his eyes begin to close, the better to focus on the incredible sensations pouring through him. His dom's quick headshake arrests the lazy drift of lashes.

"Keep 'em open, Billie Joe. I want to see you. I want to watch every expression, every emotion that passes through those pretty green eyes of yours while I fuck you."

A mewling whimper escapes his lips and Mike greets it with a fierce grin. His hips begin to move with purpose, setting a blazing rhythm that has Billie drowning, swamped by pulsing waves of unbearable pleasure, all shaded that particular blue of Mike's eyes.

There is a reason they are in the room on the far end, and it's evident why as Billie's voice rises, volume spiraling upwards right along with his tension. With his need.

He can't remember the last time he was fucked face-to-face, and it's been years, possibly decades, since the last time he felt the penetration of bare flesh. Billie doesn't know if it's one of those two facts, or the way Mike's tall form is folded over him in a near-embrace as those bony hips snap ruthlessly against his ass, or how he's being pinned to the thin motel mattress by a heated gaze he's known most of his life no less than by the familiar body, but nothing he's ever done has prepared him for the intensity of this experience, and he feels as though he might literally burst into little pieces at any moment from the all-encompassing assault.

All Billie knows for sure right now is that he's barreling at full speed towards the orgasm of his life, and he's not allowed to come without permission.

He hears the thick sound of his own voice as from a distance, expending a huge amount of effort to reach for the necessary words through the roaring of his blood.

"Sir, Master, need—I—may I—" He fumbles the question, unable to think past the intoxicating slide of Mike inside him.

His dom bends closer, abdominal muscles rippling against Billie's cock as it's trapped between them, pleasure spiking viciously at the sweat-slickened contact.

"Please," he moans, fighting to hang on.

Mike curls one hand around the back of his neck, jerking him up for a swift kiss. The scalloped edges of the collar's buckle dig into his flesh, hard enough that Billie dimly recognizes that it will leave marks. There is a sudden, small space in his mind that is crystal clear; it joins this realization with the blissful tension singing through him, and it draws an inescapable conclusion that shakes him down to his toes and opens him in every way, stripping all of him naked for this man.

He sees it, but while a soft wonder creeps into Mike's gaze, his growl is pure dominance.

"You want to come, boy? Then come." His fingers tighten on the collar, restricting Billie's airflow slightly. "Come _now_."

Ownership of one Billie Joe Armstrong, successfully transferred.

"Mi—Mas—ah!" He abandons the attempt at coherent speech, wordless sound spilling forth in liquid, loud vowels as his body shudders, lost to the bright knife edge of ecstasy. There is no individualized sensation; he's not specifically aware of the spasms coaxing sticky fluid from his erection, or of the bruising force of the cockhead striking his prostate with unerring precision, or the friction of velvet skin inside him sparking his nerve endings so strongly that it verges on pain.

What Billie Joe is aware of, is blue. It surrounds him, invades him, coats every inch of him inside and out; it _owns_ him. And it is to that blue that he surrenders at last, completely undone.

Long moments pass before other colors become visible again, and gradually Billie begins to notice that Mike is a lot heavier when he's lying still, and that while the pillow definitely helped, he is still folded in half and he's not a kid anymore.

Mike groans and lifts up enough to pull out and lower Billie's legs to a more natural position, but he doesn't move off, stroking his thumb across Billie's flushed cheek instead.

Billie smiles wryly at the trickle of liquid across super-sensitized skin; the one part of barebacking he's always disliked. Only now does he move his own hands from their submissive posture above his head, reaching for Mike and simply holding him.

He clears his throat and feels the band of leather tighten across his Adam's apple as it bobs, and the questions that had been temporarily abolished come rushing back to the forefront. "Mike, why?"

The bassist grins, clearly having expected this. "I just watched you go to fucking pieces under me, Bill. It might be the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Already warm, his face heats a little more. "That's not an answer."

"Yeah, it is." His grin gentles into a luminous smile. "I wanted to see you—really see you. To be with _you_ , not borrowing someone else's property."

"Is that," he stops, searching for a way to phrase what he wants to say. "Is that why you stopped coming for a while?"

_A while._ Months, in fact, that he'd gone seeing Mike only by day, only as a friend and bandmate. Months Billie had spent second-guessing himself and the lifestyle he'd chosen years ago; months in which the tension between the band members had increased exponentially and no one was talking to anyone else about anything important. Then Mike had reappeared, with increasing frequency, and he'd wondered what the hell was going on. Of the many possibilities he'd constructed in his head, though, this one hadn't occurred to him.

"I'm sorry," Mike murmurs, pressing soft kisses to his swollen mouth. "I needed to figure some things out. Including what I wanted from you. When Tré finally got tired of us both being so bitchy and beat me over the head with the obvious, I made up my mind and started talking about how to take over."

"That's when you came back."

He nods. Billie has one more question. "This isn't your thing, though, Mikey. I mean you haven't…you've been one of my Sirs for years now, but you've never been in a formal relationship like this before. Are you sure it's what you want?"

"I want you, Bill. This comes with you. Besides, I'll have you know that I've been taking lessons."

He quirks an eyebrow, not bothering to suppress a smile. "Lessons?"

Mike's eyes sparkle mischievously. "Yup. For example, I know exactly what to do when you get attitudinal."

"Attitudinal." He inhales sharply as Mike slaps a hand down on the mattress, his ass twitching at the thought of those long fingers striking his pale flesh. His flash of interest doesn't pass unnoticed and Mike's smile broadens again.

"Didn't really need to be told that you'd be into that, though." He nuzzles the delicate shell of Billie's ear, licking. "I've always known what a little slut you are." Mike bites down hard and Billie shivers. His body can't possibly survive another round right now but it's paying close attention to his dom's every action nonetheless.

That thought brings another. "What about—"

"You'll still see him, Billie. You've been together for a long time and of course he still cares about you." He ghosts a hand in front of Billie Joe's eyes and purses his lips. "Well, maybe _see_ isn't the best word."

"You mean you're not stopping everything?"

He grows serious for a moment. "Do you want it to stop? Honestly."

Slight shame colors his whispered admission. "No."

"That's what I thought." Mike kisses him, tongue swirling languidly in his mouth. "The only Sirs who won't be seeing you again are those who aren't sufficiently exhibitionist to tolerate me in the room."

"Mike," he moans when the bassist's talented hands stroke down his sides and lift his hips. "I don't think—"

"I'm not asking, boy." Billie's eyes widen at the firm tone; Mike is already startlingly comfortable ordering him around. He's hardly gotten to finish a complete sentence this morning, and he can't deny that the diminutive sends desire corkscrewing through him. Never mind the idea of his dom watching other men fuck him. His belly trembles and his legs tighten around the lanky body as Mike seats himself with a gentle push.

"I'll be careful but I am going to fuck you."

Unable to form words for the maddeningly acute friction fracturing into shockwaves with each slow glide of Mike's hips, Billie simply nods, until he loses the ability to even remember what the head movement means and his head lolls to the side with a whimper. It grows to a moan as a hand fists his cock, roughly demanding a response. The contrast keeps him off-balanced and sunk in sensation, right up to the moment when he feels heat explode inside him and Mike's fingers squeeze him into another bone-shattering orgasm.

This time, Mike does move to the side and Billie immediately curls into him, wanting nothing more than sleep. He manages one last remark before inexorably drifting off, safe and more than happy with this major change in his life.

"Remind me to tell Tré he gives good lessons."


End file.
